


knuckles red

by anons



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Donghyuck is a Street Artist, M/M, Mark is in a Fight Club, Romance, Slight Chensung, mild Blood and Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anons/pseuds/anons
Summary: Really, Mark and Donghyuck are bound to cross paths painting the Seoul streets red with their knuckles and hands.





	knuckles red

**Author's Note:**

> no this isnt in any way a fight club au i just took the idea lmao

Mark’s got a new bruise on his jaw from his earlier fight with Lucas. It’ll turn purple-blue in the next few days, climb up his skin like bright sunken lotuses. It aches dully but he’s used to it and these—the short cast on his left arm and the phantom band aids on his skin—are normal occurrence to people like him. Natural, like second skin. 

But not to this- this  _boy_  sitting in front of him. Pressing zebra patterns into his skin even though he’d teased Mark about it earlier. The scabs on his wrists and knees look too red and too raw on his skin. It somehow seems out of place among the chromes of red and blue paint on his fingers. 

The boy finishes stamping down the edges of a band aid. “There. All better,” he says, then waves two unopened ones—cow pattern, Mark’s favorite—in the air, “Thanks by the way. I’m keeping these. For uh, future accidents. I guess.”

Mark smiles. “Go ahead. At least then you won’t have to chew out the cashier in the next convenience store you’re gonna crash in for having no band aids.” 

“It was important, okay? They should stock in on things like this,” the boy says, laughing. “Honestly, what if I was bleeding out?”

Mark replies, “Then you’d be in a hospital instead of this store.”

The boy laughs again, teeth gleaming under the store’s lights. It happened like this: ten minutes ago it was only the sound of electricity humming in the store, and then it’s not. The grimy glass doors flied open to make way for the panting boy and Mark watched everything unfold where he sat, nursing a bruised jaw and a slightly bruised ego, until he decided to cut in. Mark thinks him saving the cashier should warrant him at least one free ramen from this store or something. 

“Your cast,” the boy says, sudden.

Mark looks at him and then down to his cast. “What about it?”

He blinks at Mark. “It’s empty.”

Mark frowns, looks at it again. He sees dirty white staring back and isn’t quite sure he understands. That’s not what people usually say. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—“ the boy starts. He has his hands splayed out, leftover art on his fingers. “Aren’t your friends supposed to sign it for you?”

Mark tilts his head. “Are they?" 

But the boy is already starting to rummage for something in his bag, his fingers blue-tipped, ombreing down to a soft red. When he procures up a sharpie and asks, “Do you want me to sign it for you?” Mark thinks of Minseok saying he needs his cast taken off soon if he wants in on bigger, actual fights, and doesn’t know what makes him nod.

The boy’s doodle of a lion looks good, at least.

 

 

Jeno takes one look at Mark’s cast when he finishes explaining. “Neat artwork, huh.”

Then Mark is doubling over. Recoiling. That punch in the gut was unexpected, and it’s undeniable that Jeno’s already starting to get stronger and quicker fast though he’s fairly new. “He seemed like an artist,” Mark rasps when he recovers. “He had paint on his hands and stuff like that.” He turns and presses a kick on Jeno’s core.

“He probably is,” Jeno pants, knees buckling at the impact. He dodges Mark’s next punch, counters with an uppercut. It hits Mark’s ear and narrowly misses the two-day old bruise on his jaw which has turned purple.

Just then, Jaehyun comes holding up paper bags of take-outs. Mark deflects Jeno’s punch and thunders out a stronger one on the younger’s stomach. Jeno heaves, clutching it, and it should be the perfect time to throw him to the ground but Mark doesn’t. The smell of chicken and noodles has long since concluded their fight.

Later, as Jaehyun talks about how he’s gonna try to talk to Minseok into letting Mark join the open fight on Saturday despite the cast, Mark looks at it. Jeno is slurping on his noodles noisily, and Jaehyun flicks his forehead. He tells them to leave some for the others.

“I wonder what the H means,” Mark wonders aloud, nibbling on sauce-filled chicken skin. The lone initial sits, cryptic, under the doodled lion (“ _Because the band aid on your knees is a lion!”_ ).

Jeno shrugs, finishes his noodles. “No idea.”

 

 

Somehow, Jaehyun manages to get Minseok’s approval. He’s sitting with Mark on the ground, knees on grimed soil, as they wait for his turn. Nearby, the crowd choruses in loud, amused exclamations that rise and fall at the current fighter’s—Yuta, was it?—every movement.

“Hey,” Seulgi swings by, wrapping her knuckles with bandage. Everyone’s gearing up for new opponents and potential new members. Gritty bikers and street artists and people from the slums. Open fights don’t happen often but whenever it did, it’s a big deal. “You sure you can do it?”

“Sure he can,” Jaehyun answers Seulgi’s question for him. “Minseok’s given him the go signal despite the cast. Mark can do it.” 

Dirty sewer water washes up in the coast. Someone squawks as it pools around their ankles. The soiled walls and the bridge overhead clutter with green soot, littering the whole place with a dank smell. But it doesn’t matter. Yuta throws another kick, orchestrating another chorus of reactions.

“Alright, I gotta get ready,” Seulgi says, cracking her neck as Hyoyeon calls her name. She pats Mark’s head. “Good luck, kid. Don’t hurt yourself.” 

“Kind of impossible not to,” Mark sniffs. Seulgi’s laughter carries itself above the crowd’s noise and then she’s disappearing in the rowdy crowd, her tight ponytail a high crown on her head.

Things seem to fly fast and he’s already up after a few minutes. Jaehyun pats his knee. When he walks to his spot, the crowd parts for him. The lion leers at him with its penciled-in eyes.

Somewhere in the crowd, Mark thinks he sees Jeno flash two thumbs up at him. But all that is replaced with the eyes of his opponent, crazed and unrelenting. Someone new yet much older than Mark is. The crowd yells around him as the fight starts.

He breathes in through his nose, exhales through his teeth. He braces himself.

 

 

Jeno is waiting for him with ice, a clean cloth, and pitiful reassurance after. “You did great, hyung,” he gushes. “You were at a disadvantage and deserved the win more than he did. You could’ve beaten him any other day!" 

Mark only hums at him, pressing the cloth on his bleeding nose. The cool press pricks on his skin. Jeno’s cheekbone is bruised from the fight he won earlier. With him getting more skilled by the day, Mark can’t exactly chalk it up as beginner’s luck. Jeno’s queued to another round set in twenty minutes.

Someone rounds the corner, spots them in the crowd. Jeno perks up at the sound of his name being called. When Mark turns to see, it’s him. Convenience store boy. Zebra band aid boy? It occurs to Mark that they never exchanged names.

The boy’s hands are clean this time when he waves. Void of band aids and spray paint. “Hey,” he says, looking at Mark. Surprised just as he is. “It’s you.”

Jeno frowns at them. “Wait, you know him?”

“Yeah,” the boy tells Jeno, but he’s looking at Mark. “I signed his cast.”

Jeno’s frown clears up, understanding. He looks at the lion. “ _Oh_ , that was you! I didn’t recognize your drawing!” he says, and comes upon a realization again. “H! For Haechan!”

Haechan. It strikes up something in Mark’s mind but he can’t quite pinpoint what or where he’s heard that name. “That’s not his real name though,” Jeno is saying, and Mark sees a lone wall in his mind just as Jeno says he’s a street artist. Stenciled on the wall is Haechan’s name, big and bright and bold. “Mark-hyung meet Donghyuck, Donghyuck meet Mark-hyung. I’m, uh, your mutual friend, I guess?”

 

 

“I had no idea you knew him. He never talked about the other members,” the boy— _Donghyuck_ explains. Mark’s blowing steam off his ramen. He’d gotten it free in the convenience store alright, but that’s only because Donghyuck paid for it. The cashier was stingy, giving him a stink-eye because he apparently remembered the younger’s face.

“I had no idea you were his friend too,” Mark says. “And that you’re Haechan? I never saw you around or something.” 

Donghyuck smiles, impish. “Jeno wasn’t supposed to say that.”

Mark thinks of the reputation that precedes street artists and understands. Countless walls spelling his name yet no one has seen him. The reason why he never noticed Donghyuck is because no one was supposed to. “Don’t worry, I...”—what was Mark supposed to say?—“um, won’t tell?” 

Donghyuck barks out a laugh. “Thanks, I guess.”

“How did you get your wounds?” Mark inquires carefully.

“Ah, that,” Donghyuck says, chewing. His palm is a pale red from the healing scabs, his finger too. Mark wonders where his cow-patterned band aids have gone. “Well, I was running away from a cop. Had to jump over a high wall and landed badly on all fours.”

Mark winces. “Yikes. Does that usually happen to you?”

Donghyuck shakes his head. “Not really. Usually it goes smoothly because I know where to go. I turned the wrong corner though so I had no choice but to climb over the wall. One of my bad times, I guess. Some of the paint spilled in my bag too.”

“Oh, so that explains the paint.” 

Donghyuck nods. “My mom was so pissed when she saw the insides of my bag tainted,” he says, poking his noodles. He’s already about to finish. “She doesn’t really, uh, agree with… all this.” 

Mark thinks of own mother back in Canada who has absolutely no idea. Who still sends Mark money for college. She wouldn’t have approved of Mark’s decisions too. Mark catches a carrot between his chopsticks. Minutes later they shift the topic to Donghyuck and Jeno’s university and talk until Mark’s scraping the last of the noodles in his cup. 

Donghyuck stretches when they finish. The paper bag containing the soft drinks and bandages Jeno asked them to buy rumples upon contact. Two things: either he’s beating up someone or getting beaten up right now. If they sprint, maybe they’ll catch the climax of the fight. 

“We should probably get back, don’t you think?” Mark says.

 

  

Bed springs press against his spine, but Mark is used to it. The short cast feels frustrating against his skin. Minseok had banished him on the bench for a few days to rest his arm. Lucas had slid a piece of chicken in his plate during lunch in consolation. 

A text message waits for him but he only opens it in the morning. It’s from Donghyuck. He’d insisted Mark save his number when they coincidentally came across each other in the same convenience store two days after the open fight.

In the text, Donghyuck’s shamelessly advertising the Laundromat where he says he works part-time at. Mark finds out it’s only located two blocks away. Eating noodles and the dumplings Chenle had brought earlier, Mark texts back that he’ll visit during laundry day. Some time this week.

 

  

Moss-filled walls rise in the outskirts of the city like a fortress, and Donghyuck’s got his name written in a number of them. Throw-ups, he calls them, with its distinct calligraphy and a bit complex color scheme. He has some murals too, apparently. Mark finds out about this as they walk and promptly forgets his melting ice cream in his surprise. 

“I thought you only wrote your name?” Mark says, and Donghyuck laughs at him. Mark glances at the open-mouthed lion on his arm.

“That’s what most people think, yeah,” he tells Mark. “I’m not just a tagger though. If you look closely you’ll see my nam—can you  _please_  eat your ice cream first? It’s dripping all over.”

Vanilla’s trickling all over the sugar cone, making a beeline for Mark’s fingers. He licks it off and wipes his sticky thumbs on his shirt. Donghyuck makes a face at that, and Mark reckons he’s got newly-laundered extra ones in his bag anyway.

It hadn’t been Donghyuck’s shift yet when Mark finally visited the Laundromat but he came and sat with Mark nevertheless as he watched his clothes turn in the spin cycle. Then they decided to leave for ice cream and to bother Jeno before Donghyuck’s shift started.

“Here, see?” Donghyuck suddenly says as they walk past a wall bursting in vandals. Names, crude drawings, vulgar words. Stickers here and there. “This here”—Donghyuck points to a particular writing which reads  _JSNG_ in white spray paint, scribbled hastily in English letters—“is a tagger.”

When Mark touches the wall, it’s nothing but dust and dirt crumbling under his fingertips. “Tagger?”

“Yeah. Tagging. That’s what it’s called. Simply writing names on walls. Some even spray paint over finished murals and graffiti. Those are the annoying ones.” 

The cone crunches under his teeth. His fingers still feel sticky from the vanilla. He shakes off specks of dirt from the wall. “Ever been victimized before?”

At this, Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “Yeah. That Jisung kid keeps on following me around. I see his name near mine all the time and he even had the audacity to write it on top of one of my artworks once. I confronted him when I caught him.”

“Yeah? How’d that go?”

Donghyuck mutters, “Ended up buying the kid ice cream and gave him—in his own words—‘ _professional advice_ ’ and stuff. I still see him around sometimes.”

Mark laughs. “You call that confrontation?”

“He was adorable. I just couldn’t resist.”

They finish their ice creams and walk more until the gravel under their sneakers turn to evened out sidewalks and cobbles. Observing painted walls, Mark wonders out loud which artworks are Donghyuck’s.

“That, you’ll have to guess,” Donghyuck grins.

When they ring on Jeno’s faulty doorbell, he looks very surprised to see them together. They only laugh when he asks what’s up and wait for him outside as he changes his clothes. They sit on the pavement with their knees pulled in—Mark’s knobbed, Donghyuck’s scabbed.

Later, Mark almost trips on the pedestrian crossing on the way to town, standing between Jeno and Donghyuck. Donghyuck steadies him by his elbow and laughs. He tells him to be careful and says that he doesn’t really need more bruises with his state. Mark just brushes his hand off with a smile.

 

  

Chenle’s mother’s jasmines tickle his lower back. The cake Chenle brought is almost finished and Mark wonders how he managed to strike up on his luck. Three years ago, new and foreign to South Korea, Mark wouldn’t have imagined renting out a small, old loft above a Chinese family’s house but  _boy_ is he glad he did. The rent’s bearable and not only are they kind but they look after him too.

“We were supposed to visit home this year but my mom postponed it to next year instead,” Chenle is saying, “I was really excited. I miss grandma. Do you miss Canada, hyung?”

Mark’s fork digs into the remaining cake. “I do, yeah. I hope I get to visit soon.”

“Yeah. Like, I mean Korea is nice but”—Chenle stares out the roof wistfully—“there’s just something about the place you grew up in, you know?”

The roof spills with petunias and weeping figs. Chenle’s mother had a green thumb and the other day, Chenle had talked about how she planned on growing sunflowers now that summer has rolled in. Chenle is starting to talk about his mother’s garden back in China when his phone vibrates. He peters off. 

“Oh! He’s here,” Chenle says, looking at his phone. He stands up abruptly, the metal chair skidding against the floor.

“Who is?” 

“My new friend Jisung. I told him to come over.” Chenle looks at the dirty plates and pitcher, and smiles sheepishly at Mark. “Help me bring down the dishes? I can introduce you to him too.”

Jisung. Huh. When they come down, Chenle takes a detour to the gate and tells Mark to leave the dishes on the sink. The kitchen door creaks open. He stacks the dishes neatly in the corner. The light on the rice cooker has shifted to green, and Chenle and Jisung enter the kitchen just as Mark pulls the wire out from the socket.

“Oh right I forgot about the rice,” Chenle laughs. “Thanks hyung.” Jisung is taller than him, Mark even, and he’s fiddling with the straps of his backpack. Eyes blinking, lips pursed. Adorably awkward. He’s looking at Mark’s cast. If it really is him then Donghyuck is right, the kid is cute.

“This is Jisung,” Chenle tells Mark, then to Jisung he says, “This is Mark-hyung. I’ve told you about him.”

Jisung bows politely. "It’s very nice to meet you.”

There are plenty of Jisungs in Korea but he asks anyway. Tests how small the world is. “Do you perhaps know a Lee Donghyuck?”

Jisung squints, eyes snapping back up to Mark’s face from his cast. Chenle scrunches up his forehead. Mark almost thinks it’s not him when Jisung’s eyes light up and he grins, wide and delighted. “Oh, Haechan-hyung? I do know him! He buys me ice cream sometimes!”

Mark laughs at the starry look in the younger’s eyes, reveres at the coincidence. “I’ve heard. He’s told me about you.”

 

 

The first thing Mark says when he visits the Laundromat unannounced is, “I met your protégé.”

Apparently, he says it a bit too loudly and an old lady gives him a dirty look. He bows and smiles sheepishly in apology. Satisfied at that, she turns back and resumes blinking sleepily at the spin cycle. Donghyuck cocks an amused brow. “Protégé?”

“That Jisung kid you told me about,” Mark says, sliding on the plastic chair next to Donghyuck. “I met him yesterday. He’s friends with another friend of mine, apparently. He looked excited when I asked him about you. You’re right, he was adorable.”

Donghyuck laughs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mark grins. “He also told me about one of your artworks. There’s one in the playground nearby, he says. Wanna show me?”

Donghyuck holds his hands up in submission, chuckling. “Caught me. My shift ends in like an hour. Maybe we can go there after.” 

The old lady chairs away has started to doze off, snoring lightly. Her clothes are kaleidoscope-spinning drowsily. Mark says, “Sounds good.”

  

 

The old swing groans lightly, creaking when Donghyuck sits on it. The one beside it has sharp, broken metal turned upwards, rust threatening, so Mark sits on the grass instead and allows green to tickle his elbows.

“So where is it?” Mark asks. When he looks up, the sky is a light shade of pink. Nearing sunset. Dragonflies whizz past them, wings fluttering quick. They disappear just as fast as they come.

“Later,” Donghyuck says. “Don’t you want to enjoy the wind first?” 

Mark tilts his head back down to see Donghyuck’s tilted up. Eyes closed. The streetlight nearby has turned on prematurely and it glows orange and unstable against the remaining light of day. Donghyuck’s eyes blink open in time for the streetlight to flicker too. He follows Mark’s gaze and scrunches his eyebrows when he sees him staring at the lamp post.

“You okay there?”

Mark turns back to Donghyuck, blinking. “Oh. Yeah. Just spaced off a bit.”

“Huh,” Donghyuck says, then looks at Mark’s knees submerged in untamed grass. “Careful there. Insects might bite you. Don’t need any more—“

“—wounds, yeah I know,” Mark chuckles. Still, he pulls his knees up at that and hugs them.

“Hey, I’m not supposed to ask but…” Donghyuck pauses, as if in thought, “why did you join fight club?”

Mark taps his fingers on his skin, thinking back. “Well… Minseok-hyung took me in,” he admits. “Older, nastier teens used to pick on me when I was new to the city. He came across us one day, scared them off, and offered to teach me how to fight.” 

Donghyuck looks surprised. “I thought you got in through an open fight?”

“Yeah, most people think so because that’s the only way to get in. I’m one of the special cases, I guess?”

“I guess, yeah. Jeno got in through an open fight,” Donghyuck muses. “I was surprised when I saw him with tons of bruises the next day. He didn’t want to tell me but I forced him to.”

“I wasn’t there to witness it because I was off preparing somewhere,” Mark admits, “but yeah. I heard he was real good. He’s a really strong fighter.”

Donghyuck hums in agreement. “You are too, when I first watched you fight.” 

Mark visibly deflates. “But I lost.”

“You did,” Donghyuck smiles good-naturedly. “But you were still great. I could see how skillful you are. All good fighters have their bad days, you know.”

“Yeah, but not all has a bad arm,” Mark grumbles. He shifts his cast begrudgingly, using it to swat a nearby dragonfly hovering on his shoulder. 

Donghyuck laughs. “You’re gonna have the cast removed soon, right?” 

“I hope so,” Mark sighs.

“Hey, it’s okay. Try to look at your cast as a good luck charm the next time. Maybe it’ll help?”

Mark frowns. “A good luck charm?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck grins. “I didn’t draw that lion for nothing. It resembles courage. Bravery! Um, power?”

“You teased me and told me it was because of my lion band aid.”

Donghyuck laughs. “That too, yes. But let’s look at it differently from now on. Lion. Bravery. Power. Your new good luck charm. You’re buying me noodles if you win in your next fight.” 

“I—what?” Mark splutters. “That’s not fair!”

“No, it isn’t,” Donghyuck beams. “Nothing in this life is. Also, Mark?” 

Mark looks at him warily. “What?”

“About my artwork…”

His face lights up.

“Look behind you.”

When Mark does, he sees nothing but grass for the next meter, a viridian sea buzzing with dragonflies. But he squints at the distance and sees a lone wall in the next lot, brick red. He twists his whole body to see better and sees a stenciled graffiti of a bird. Eyes wide, body stark black and white. Its wings are wide open, poised and confident. Ready to fly.

 

 

Lucas presses a kick on his shoulder, throwing him back. He stands down and feels an ache on his arm. Frustrating and familiar. Yuta and Jaehyun are having their own brawl at the corner too, with Yerim whooping at the sidelines. 

Mark stares at the cast on his arm. Flexes his fingers just a bit. He imagines the torpid trickling of blood in his veins below, the twist in his tired bones. He tries not to think of how his arm thundered on the cracks on the pavement. One kick and he’s down. He tells himself everything will be back to normal soon.

When he looks back up, Lucas is casting him a concerned glance. Still, his fists are poised up to a stance. Ready to fight. 

 _Think of it as your good luck charm_.

Lucas deflects the punch Mark throws, but isn’t too fast to dodge the other ones he pitches in succession. Finally, he ducks and throws a hard kick on Mark’s thigh. Mark loses his balance and falls, butt on the floor, but slides his feet against Lucas’ ankles. Effectively sweeping him off and down.

When he bolts to Lucas to pin him down, he catches a glimpse of his cast as he raises his fist. Minseok, in the distance, is staring at him with approval in his eyes. Jeno, too, has a beam on his face that screams ‘ _finally!_ ’. The lion stares back at him with its fading but still determined eyes.

 

 

“You seem strangely upbeat for a person who looks like he’d been run down by a hundred horses,” Chenle says when he comes up to the loft that night. A trickling vine follows him in as he opens the door. He tucks the leaves back outside.

“Good evening to you too,” Mark snorts, but he’s smiling.

“Yeah, good evening, hyung.” Chenle raises an eyebrow, placing a bowl of something on the table. They’re having that and leftover chicken for dinner tonight. “You won a fight, didn’t you?” 

“Am I that transparent?” Mark asks, coming to grab plates and glasses from the cupboard. “But anyway, um, yeah? I did. With my cast.” 

“With your cast,” Chenle parrots. He peels the plastic cover off the plate of chicken on the table and swats away flies with a flutter of his fingers. “Congrats, hyung, but you know you really shouldn’t be using your arm too much, right?” 

Mark clicks his tongue. “It’s already healed, anyway. I’m gonna have the cast removed next week.”

When Mark turns to look, Chenle is looking at him, unamused. “What?” Mark says, defensive. 

“ _Next week_ ,” Chenle mocks. “Well, if you  _really_  want it removed  _next week_  then you better not get into any more fights this week. You wouldn’t wanna break any more bones or something.”

Mark laughs, ruffles Chenle’s hair a tad too fondly. “Sure, mom. I’ll keep that in mind.” He sits next to him.

“Anyway, Mom cooked chow mein,” Chenle says, snapping his chopsticks, pointing to the swirl of noodles and scallions on the bowl. “Stir fried noodles. My favorite.” 

Noodles. He looks at the lion on his cast, mouth open to a growl, and remembers his (read: one-sided) deal with Donghyuck. “Wait one sec,” he tells Chenle who’s already stuffing the noodles halfway in his mouth, “I gotta text a friend of mine. He’s going to come over.”

Chenle somehow looks elated with the noodles hanging off his lips. “A friend?”

“Yeah— _chew properly, Chenle_ —is that okay?”

Chenle laughs. “Why are  _you_ asking me? This is your house, isn’t it?” he grins, sesame seeds on his front teeth, “Is it Jeno-hyung? Lucas-hyung? Jaehyun-hyung?” 

“You’ve never met him,” Mark says swiftly but Chenle only smiles wider at that, excited at meeting someone new. Mark texts Donghyuck his address to which Donghyuck replies almost a minute later with a series of question marks. Mark tells him to come if he’s bored and available and if he wants his free noodles.

Donghyuck doesn’t reply for the next ten minutes so Mark deems that he’s either a) coming and getting ready or b) busy and won’t make it. Later, he gets the answer by the form of a string of panicked texts from Donghyuck, saying that he’s here and asking Mark if he should ring the bell on the intimidating-looking gate. 

 ** _mark:_** no. chill. go to the side of the gate with the small alleyway. you’ll see an old, metal staircase. climb up, get past the small jungle, and knock on my door

 ** _donghyuck:_** u live in a jungle???

 ** _donghyuck_** : A LARGE DOG IS BARKING AT ME I’M JUST TRYING TO CLIMB UP THE STAIRS IN PEACE

 ** _donghyuck_** : you better make sure i’m in the right house. roof. whatever.

 ** _donghyuck_** : yo istg if this is all a sick joke and i end up getting killed or embarrassed by the end of this night instead of getting my noodles i’m going to haunt u

 ** _donghyuck_** : i mean like congrats on ur win and everything but… man you fight club members are crazy 

When someone knocks on the door, Chenle looks up excitedly from the TV. Mark wipes a bowl clean and opens the door. Donghyuck stands on the other side, fist up, about to knock again. He looks relieved, seeing Mark.

“Hey there,” he exhales, “Thank god. I thought I got the wrong house or something—“

“Hi!” Chenle suddenly says from his spot on the couch, stretching sideward to peek at Donghyuck on the door. He’s got the brightest smile. “It’s nice to meet you!”

Donghyuck looks at him with a confused expression, then to Mark.

Mark just laughs, stepping aside. “Why don’t you come in first?”

 

 

Donghyuck and Chenle get along well, apparently. The minute Donghyuck enters, Chenle glues himself to his side. They pick on Mark as they eat dinner (second dinner for Chenle) and swirl their chow meins with their forks. Mark flicks rice grains on their faces in revenge when they’re not looking.

“You’re the one who drew the lion on Mark’s cast, right?” Chenle asks, gingerly tracing the lion with his index finger. Mark lets him.

“That’s me, yeah,” Donghyuck chuckles. 

“You’re  _really_ good!” Chenle gushes, talking around a mouthful of chicken. “I was surprised when Mark-hyung went home one day and told me he drew the lion. I almost believed him.”

Mark snorts, laughing. “It was an obvious lie, Chenle.”

Chenle sniffs. “Well, you never know. You might have hidden artistic skills or something.” His eyes light up again, remembering something. “Oh, and you know Jisung too?”

Donghyuck looks surprised. “Jisung? Park?”

“Yeah? Mark-hyung and him talked about you the first time they met. I felt like an outcast because I couldn’t understand anything. I introduced them to each other!”

“You’re friends with Jisung?" 

“Yeah, I met him only recently,” Chenle grins. “He’s a rascal, do you know that? He vandalizes walls!”

Donghyuck snorts in lieu of a laughter, feigns ignorance by dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “He does?” he says. Mark hides his smile behind his glass of water.

“I caught him near my school and told him off, which is how we became friends,” Chenle explains. He pokes his noodles, toying with his food, which is how Mark knows he’s already full. “He put up a fight but gave up eventually. He’s nice.”

“Cute kid, no?”

Chenle clears his throat. “I guess.” Then, interestingly, he starts stuffing his face with more noodles, despite showing signs of being full. The whole bowl covers his face.

Donghyuck stays until Chenle finishes one episode of a new K-Drama. He finishes the chow mein until only sesame seeds are left, dotting the Chinese bowl that Mark has to wash off. Donghyuck helps him rinse them off before leaving. A weeping fig prods his cheekbone as he toes his sneakers placed neatly on the doormat outside.

“Congrats on that win, again,” Donghyuck grins, clasping Mark’s cast gently between his fingers to look at his own masterpiece. “Told you, you only had to see it a different light.”

Mark cracks a smile back. “Yeah, thanks.”

The light reaches Donghyuck’s eyes. He takes his hand back, sliding it in his pocket. “No one to thank but yourself. Take care, hyung.”

When Donghyuck disappears behind cupping leaves and the night, Mark turns back to Chenle. “Wanna stay for the night?” he asks and to that, Chenle just grins, fluffing the throw pillow, claiming the couch to be his. The dog barks out loud again, and Mark thinks he might have heard the sound of someone laughing in the night.

 

 

As it turns out, Donghyuck also has an artwork on the empty lot down Mark’s street. He tells Mark this, nonchalant, as he helps Mark sort his whites from colored clothes. Mark is surprised. Makes a mental note to look at it on the way home later.

“Hey, how come Chenle has already caught Jisung in the act and I haven’t even seen you once?” Mark wonders aloud, folding his white sleeping shirt clumsily, sleeves rumpled and uneven. This time, it’s only the two of them in the Laundromat.  A sleepy work day, apparently.

“That’s because Jisung’s new. And slow.”

Mark raises his eyebrow, amused. Donghyuck takes the shirt from him and starts to refold it neatly. Mark says, “And you’re not?”

“Well”—Donghyuck opens his hand, palm facing upwards—“As you know, when I run, it’s either life or death. No in between.” His upper wrist still bears faint scars from that one encounter. Mark laughs. 

Someone enters the Laundromat, and Donghyuck folds two more of Mark’s whites before leaving him to assist a pregnant woman. His clothes are already swirling in the spin cycle, pirouettes in pastels, when Donghyuck comes back to sit beside him with a grin on his lips.

“Tell you what,” he says, “I’m working on some small graffiti near my university tomorrow. Wanna try catching me?”

“Catching you?”

“Yeah, you want to see me doing it at least once, right? I’m handing you an opportunity here!”

Mark squints, waiting for more explanation but getting none. “You’re not gonna tell me details at all? What time? Where exactly?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Donghyuck leans back on the plastic chair, a playful glint in his eyes. “Also, to be frank, I have no idea too. I just wing everything, you know? Just base everything on my work schedule.”

“Yeah okay.” Mark raises an eyebrow. “And surely there’s a catch? What is it?”

Donghyuck smirks. “Now you’re asking the right questions.”

 

  

The catch is Mark’s supposed to buy Donghyuck food if he doesn’t catch him and Donghyuck’s supposed to do the same when Mark does (“ _Plus, bragging rights!_ ”). So when he ends up begrudgingly zipping open his wallet to pay for Donghyuck’s hotteok the next day, used band aids falling to the ground, he calls everything unfair.

Donghyuck’s laughter is bright, rising from the sizzling noises from the nearby food carts. “It isn’t fair, no,” he grins, “but you’re still here paying up anyway. I probably should get Jeno to tag along so when he loses, I can ask him to bring back live octopuses from Busan when he goes next week.”

“He won’t agree to your little game,” Mark says. “He knows you’re too quick and sneaky.”

Donghyuck throws the stick on the plastic bag hanging at the side of the food cart. “You know that too and yet you’re still here.”

“I didn’t even see the graffiti,” Mark says, ignoring him. “No fair.”

“We’ll get back to it later,” Donghyuck hums, then starts pulling Mark to the next food cart. He’s probably gonna start more of these cat-and-mouse game of catch, just so he can get Mark to buy more food. Mark isn’t sure his monthly allowance would cover it. “Next up, skewers!”

  

 

Mark gets his cast removed the day after Jeno leaves for Busan. He’d smartly refused Donghyuck’s deal and Donghyuck gave up pestering him after two days. Mark isn’t that smart though so he ended up buying Donghyuck food again yesterday. After Mark's doctor’s visit in the morning, Jeno and Donghyuck had texted him to congratulate him, both unable to visit.

He spends the rest of his day holed up in his loft, lying around. He only gets up when Chenle knocks on his door in the evening to ask him if he wants to come down and play Mario Kart with Jisung.

“I asked Jisung to sleep over because mom and dad are out of town toni—oh hey! Why didn’t you tell me you had your cast removed already?”

Mark lazily moves his left arm. “I just had it taken off this morning.” 

Chenle blinks at him. “I can finally see your arm!”

“Yes you can,” Mark laughs, grabbing his phone and blanket from the couch. “Mario Kart sounds good?”

Jisung is already settled on the couch when they come down. A pizza box is left open on the coffee table, Jisung’s fingers already sticky with cheese and grease. “’Sup, hyung,” he says, and Mark smiles at him. Jisung scoots over to make space for him and Chenle. 

“You should invite Donghyuck-hyung over,” Chenle says, making a beeline for a slice of pizza the minute they sit. Jisung’s face lights up as he navigates through the game’s main menu.

Mark looks at their expectant faces. “I’ll try to text him.”

He does, as Chenle and Jisung argue over who gets to pick Yoshi as their character. If he remembers correctly, Donghyuck’s not on shift during Tuesdays so he should be free tonight. When Chenle succeeds in getting Yoshi, he turns to Mark and tells him he’s perfect for Shy Guy. 

Mark plants his phone face down on the couch arm. “I mean, I guess?”

“Haech—Donghyuck-hyung can have Luigi if he comes,” Jisung says. 

“He hasn’t replied yet but sure,” Mark tells him, tucking his feet under his legs. “Luigi it is.”

Seven games and half a pizza later, Mark’s phone still remains silent. Chenle and Jisung stop asking about Donghyuck. Chenle’s Yoshi is catapulting a succession of turtle shells at him which he clumsily avoids when his phone finally vibrates. He shifts the console to his right hand as he opens the message from Donghyuck saying he can’t make it tonight and that he’s in the other side of town.

 ** _mark_** : what are you doing over there?

 ** _donghyuck_** : visited some friends and now im out… y’know hehehe

 ** _mark_** **:**  but isn’t it like past 10 already? that’s kinda not safe

 ** _donghyuck_** : you physically fight with people, THAT’S not safe

 ** _donghyuck_** : gtg 

When Mark looks up, a red turtle shell smacks hard into Shy Guy. Then he’s spiraling off Rainbow Road and falling to the sky. Jisung laughs at his consecutive losses. “Wow, you’re really bad at this, hyung,” Chenle utters, and Mark agrees.

 

 

The late afternoon sun has dwindled to a soft yellow. Mark has just lost to Seulgi, her high kicks making her a very difficult opponent, when Donghyuck suddenly shows up. Yerim and Yuta look at the newcomer curiously. Mark stands up quickly despite his aching bones and jogs over to him, confused and surprised.

Donghyuck looks like he’s about to fold into himself. “Hey.”

Mark squints at him through the sunlight, holding a hand up to shield his eyes. “Hey, what’s up? What are you doing here?”

“I um…” Donghyuck bites his lip nervously, “Jeno says I can go to you.”

Mark furrows his eyebrows. “What’s wrong, Hyuck?”

“I kinda, uh. Well.” He scratches his head, strands of his hair golden brown in the specks of sunlight. “I haven’t been home for almost two days now?”

“What?” 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck laughs feebly. “The night I was in the other side of town, my mom and I had an argument when I got home. Shit about my graffiti and vandalizing. Said I should be more mature. I got so angry I rushed back out. And uh, hadn’t come back since.”

“What?” Mark can’t control the frown on his face. “Donghyuck, you should—“ 

“No, please. I can’t.” Donghyuck croaks out. “Just. I really can’t do this right now. Jeno’s furious and he told me to ask you and… can—can I stay over at your place just for tonight? I’m not really forcing you or anything. You can reject, if you don’t want to.” He exhales out a shaky sigh. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t go to anyone else.” 

Donghyuck’s tightly clutching the sleeves of his own sweater, knuckles almost white. He looks so lost. He thinks of how his own mother would react when she finds out and his heart clenches. Mark bites his lip, looking back to the others and then looking back at Donghyuck. He’s got a round with Sicheng in three minutes.

“Alright, okay, of course you can stay,” he says softly, “I just need to finish things, okay? You can sit and wait. Then we can go.”

Mark is distracted the whole fight. Donghyuck is sitting quietly in the corner, beside Jaehyun, and he looks over with watchful eyes. The remaining light of day beams through the walls and Mark looks at it one last time before the world is spinning as he and Sicheng land harshly on the floor as they wrestle. In the end, he manages to deflect Sicheng’s punches and wins by landing one last one on Sicheng’s cheek.

Sicheng accepts his hand and Lucas pats his shoulder after. Donghyuck is already holding Mark’s bag when he walks to him. “Let’s go,” he says weakly, still levelling out his breathing, feeling like his arm is gonna start groaning in protest every time.

“You okay?” Donghyuck asks, reaching out to touch the bruise on his cheekbone. Mark moves away instinctively. Donghyuck snatches his hand back and mutters, “Sorry. Instinct.”

Mark gives him an awkward smile. “Yeah, same.”

Donghyuck hands him his bag, locks his hands in his jeans pocket. “Lead the way.”

 

  

Donghyuck is uncharacteristically quiet the whole time they’re in the house. He slurps on his ramen noisily though to fill in the silence and Mark debates whether to prod on the situation further or not. Deciding that he deserves an explanation at least, Mark asks, “Where have you been staying all this time?”

Donghyuck pauses in chewing, face hesitant. “Well uh.” He swallows his food. “I went back to my friend’s house the first night, the one I visited in the other side of town. He had no idea. I just told him my house was locked when I came. And uh, last night I stayed at a convenience store?”

Mark frowns. “And when are you planning to go back home?”

Donghyuck clenches his jaw, turns back to his ramen. “Don’t know.”

Mark stays quiet for a while, the air tense around them, as they eat dinner. Chenle is downstairs, probably, and Mark initially thinks of bringing him here but decides against it. Now’s not really the time. They finish eating in silence and Donghyuck insists he does the dishes so Mark lets him. Quietly handing Donghyuck the plates, he says, “Your mother’s probably worried sick about you right now.”

Mark thinks he sees Donghyuck’s grip on the plate tighten but he doesn’t say anything. 

He squeezes Donghyuck’s shoulder, hands him the last glass. With one last look he says, “I’ll go get the pillows.” And disappears to his room.

After, they spend the night watching TV, sitting on opposite sides of the couch, quiet and tense. Mark thinks he really should’ve brought Chenle. Donghyuck gives half-hearted comments about the show to fill up the awkward silence and Mark appreciates him trying. An hour in, he decides to retire to bed early, already very tired.

The dog is noisy tonight, barking up the whole street. Mark takes the wire out of the socket, tucks it behind the TV. Donghyuck’s still sitting on the couch where he’ll be sleeping, Mark’s old blanket tucked around his legs, and he’s blinking tired eyes.

“Come to my room anytime if you need anything, okay?” Mark says. Donghyuck nods, shifting his feet. He lies down and settles on the couch.

As Mark goes to turn out the lights, Donghyuck suddenly speaks up. “Sorry for earlier,” he says quietly, “It’s just—“ he sighs. “Sometimes I feel like she doesn’t really care, you know? It’s not like it’s harming anyone. I just wanted to express myself. And all she does is get angry about it. And that makes me feel really shitty. It’s still my art, after all.”

Mark’s fingers are hovering on the light switch.

“Does your mom know?” Donghyuck asks, “about… you know. Your whole thing. And does she agree?”

“No, she doesn’t,” Mark admits, “and I think she’d be very angry if she found out.”

Donghyuck’s eyes light up in understanding.

“But all I know is that I’d still love her very much whatever happens. She’s probably just concerned for me,” he says. “And I’d probably still come back to her at the end of the day.” He touches the edge of the switch, not quite pressing yet. “You’re a really great artist, Hyuck. She’s your mother, she’ll surely see that and understand someday.”

At that, Mark finally turns out the lights. Moonlight filters in through the windows, casts blue-white halos on wooden floors. He maneuvers around in the dark. “Good night,” he whispers.

When Mark squints, Donghyuck’s hair is pressed on the pillow, a golden brown laurel wreath around his head. With a strange lilt to his voice he replies, “Good night.”

  

 

Mark wakes up to laughter and a sizzling pan in the morning. Blinking blearily at the ceiling, he recognizes Chenle’s shrieks and gives himself a bit more time, thinking up scenarios as to what’s making Chenle giggle, before going out.

When he enters the kitchen, Donghyuck’s back is turned, a green apron tied around him. There are bowls of kimchi rice and ham on the table. Chenle is sitting, already gobbling down his own bowl, smiling widely.

“Good morning!” he chirps. “Why didn’t you tell me about Donghyuck-hyung sleeping over?”

“What,” he scrapes out, ignoring Chenle’s question, “is happening?”

Donghyuck turns to him, then back to the eggs. He laughs. “Breakfast. I’m already finishing over here. Go sit down.”

So Mark does, looking incredulously at the strangely appetizing bowl of kimchi rice. “You made this?” he asks and Donghyuck just hums in response. He pokes a kimchi. “Out of the bare ingredients in my fridge?”

“It’s just kimchi rice and eggs,” Donghyuck says. “Anyone with bare necessities can make that.”

“Mark-hyung can’t,” Chenle laughs, mouth full. “He’s terrible at cooking." 

Mark rolls his eyes. Donghyuck finally finishes, neatly placing the eggs on top of their bowls. He goes back to turn off the stove and take off the apron. When he finally takes a seat, Mark is still staring incredulously.

“Go on, taste it,” Donghyuck says, so Mark does.

When he takes a bite, he can’t hide the way his eyes widen in shock. Donghyuck grins cheekily. “Now isn’t that the best tasting food you’ve ever had in your life?”

“After my mother’s cooking, yeah probably,” Mark says, then realizes. He looks over at Donghyuck cautiously but only sees Donghyuck smiling softly. “I’m going home today. Talking to my mom,” he tells Mark, sounding sure after a good night’s sleep, “Thanks for letting me stay over last night.”

At that, Mark’s lips stretch out to a smile. Relieved. “It’s no problem, you can come over anytime you like.”

“Yeah!” Chenle says. “We can play Mario Kart and beat Mark-hyung every time! He’s terrible at it.”

At Mark’s garble of protest, Chenle laughs. The sound chases his frown away. Donghyuck’s got kimchi sauce on his chin but Mark’s hands are too wrangled on his lap to do something about it.

 

 

“What are  _you_ doing here?”

Chenle peeks from behind Mark and grins at Donghyuck’s surprised but amused face. “He wanted to tag along,” Mark explains, holding his bag of dirty laundry, looking at Donghyuck. He looks chirpier these days after talking things out with his mother and Mark is glad to see him that way.

“Jisung’s away,” Chenle says, in explanation, “And I’m bored.”

Mark walks to one of the washing machines. “So you decided to come down here and watch Mark do his laundry instead?” Donghyuck perks, amused.

“Either that or nothing,” Chenle shrugs. “Besides, it seems fun. Jisung says he comes down here all the time.” 

“I’m pretty sure the only reason he does is to talk to Donghyuck,” Mark says, starting to sort his clothes.

Chenle quips, “Isn’t that the reason why you always come down here too?”

Mark accidentally places a red shirt on his whites. “They’re called chores, Chenle,” he says, feeling like someone had just poked on his scabs. “I have to launder these clothes or else I’ll end up smelling like a foot my whole life.”

Donghyuck and Chenle both laugh. Donghyuck sidles next to him to help sort out clothes, side of his hips bumping softly against Mark’s. Chenle’s singing a Chinese song under his breath behind them. “Jeno told me about the next open fight,” Donghyuck says. “He’s sad he won’t be around for it.”

“Yeah. Are you still coming to watch?”

“Are you gonna participate?”

“’Course I am,” Mark smiles.

Donghyuck’s smile mirrors his. The old machine grumbles softly, prematurely. Chenle’s voice cracks, and he giggles at his mistake. Donghyuck’s hair smells like that distinctive, lemon scent it always smells like. “Then of course I’ll be there.”

  

 

Jeno texts him a bunch of crying emojis, a heart-shaped exclamation point, and a trophy the night of the open fight. Mark texts back that none of the emojis really fit well together but thanks him (“ _I guess?”_ ) nevertheless. Yerim looks over his shoulder and laughs.

“He knows you’re going to  _kill_ out there,” Yerim says, then frowns, “Not literally, I mean. It’s just an expression. You know.” Then she goes off still frowning to practice her punches in the air.

Mark doesn’t see Donghyuck around but doesn’t worry. After all, he’d texted Mark the past few days assuring him he’d be there to watch. Still, he can’t help but let his eyes scan over the crowd every now and then. Expecting.

“You ready for this?” Minseok comes, clamping a hand down his shoulder. He’s up in 5 minutes.

Mark looks at the crowd around him one last time before nodding. “I’m ready.”

 

 

In the end, Mark wins but narrowly. Still he has his opponent down on the ground and he’s seconds away from doing the same. The minute Minseok ushered him to the side, Seulgi and Jaehyun had rushed over to him. Mark blinks dazedly as they dab on his wounds and scabs. He briefly sees Lucas flash him a thumbs up before going to take his place in the next fight.

"Told you you're bound to defeat me," Seulgi says, gently pressing a soaked cotton bud on a scab, "with your moves, you're gonna become very strong in no time."

They fix him up for a few minutes until all that's left is his aching, protesting bones. No internal complications, thankfully. Seulgi ruffles his hair before leaving. Jaehyun pats his knee as he closes his eyes, leans his head against the wall.

Three minutes later he hears Jaehyun come back. "Thought I recognized your friend over here," Jaehyun says, placing something beside Mark. His bag. "Call me if you need anything."

"Hey," he says, and it’s Donghyuck. Probably skimming over his figure. "You look like shit."

Mark laughs weakly.

"But you did great out there," he adds, and Mark deduces from the whiff of air that passes and the footsteps that he’s walked to sit in front of Mark. "You're in your best shape these days, huh?"

"Apparently not now."

Donghyuck chuckles softly. Someone shifts in the crowd behind them, allows more light to trickle in their little spot on the ground. Yellow light floods under his eyelids. Mark opens his eyes. He blinks through his tired haze, eyes focusing on Donghyuck. Silver glimmers in his line of sight, and it’s the first thing he notices. Clasped around the helix of Donghyuck's ear is an earring. 

Mark still feels a bit faint from the fight. So, naturally, he fumbles about it, "Uh, your ear."

"What?" Donghyuck asks, hand coming up to feel his ear. His finger comes into contact with the earring and he smiles. "Oh, yeah. It's new. I got it pierced yesterday. How is it?"

A sudden onslaught of thoughts flood over, like the yellow lights still cascading in his eyelids. Lamely, he says, "It's… okay."

"Yeah?" Donghyuck prods, "My friend did it for me and he taught me how."

The crowd yells preposterously at the ongoing brawl but the thoughts in his head are louder. “It looks good."

Donghyuck smiles and asks, "Do you want one too?" But really, Mark is too preoccupied with keeping everything on bay and trying not to think of anything superficially so he just nods, watching the silver glimmer in his eyes as his mind auto-pilots.

 

 

This is how Mark ends up in sitting cross-legged on Donghyuck's kitchen counter later when the open fight finishes. He’s got his fingers digging into his palm, wincing slightly as the piercing needle drills into his ear.

Donghyuck dabs it clean with ethanol after. Mark thinks he’s about to choke from all the ethyl and betadine that has evaporated his way the whole night. Donghyuck’s ribs dig into his knees and Mark stumbles, "You never told me you lived above the Laundromat."

"Yeah, well, ta-dah," Donghyuck says, grinning, lazily fluttering jazz hands. "Surprise. It’s why I stick by my job.” He leans away. “Mom's gonna be home in a bit for dinner. What do you wanna eat?"

Mark rearranges his feet, lets it hang freely. His heel hits the counter. "Nothing specific, really."

“Okay,” Donghyuck says, then looks at the neon signs outside flicking against the velvet black of the night. “You should probably just sleep over tonight. It’s late.” Then he adds, “Also my mom would kill me if she found out I let a friend go home so late alone.”

The words  _I can handle myself_ sits on the tip of Mark’s tongue but Donghyuck is already ushering him to the bathroom, warm hand on his back. “I’m gonna go get you a towel and a change of clothes. We’re almost the same size anyway.” He scans Mark’s body then frowns. “Almost.”

When he returns, Mark’s awkwardly standing in front of the door. The towel is white and the shirt a faded yellow, a faint picture of a mustard bottle embossed in front. Donghyuck closes the door with one last smile. Mark takes his time, water cold on his chest, soap lathering with bubbles. He has to untangle the strands of his hair with shampoo a couple times, hair messy and uncombed the whole day.

After, Mark leaves his clothes on the laundry basket in Donghyuck’s room like Donghyuck told him to. He enters the kitchen to find Donghyuck’s mother already arrived, kissing her son on the cheek.

“Hello,” Mark greets, a bit embarrassed, when she turns to look at him. A droplet falls from his hair to his shoulder blade. “I’m Mark Lee, Donghyuck’s friend.”

“Hello Mark,” she smiles, and Mark notes that Donghyuck has her eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

They eat doenjang jjigae together as Donghyuck repeatedly hits Mark’s shin under the table. Donghyuck’s mother asks questions like  _are you half-american_ and  _what are you taking up for college_ , and Mark stumbles through his answers. She looks impressed when Mark says he’s a 3rd year Psychology student and that he lives alone. When she leaves with affectionate pats on both their heads, a faint scent of perfume follows her trail out.

“Your mother’s nice,” Mark says.

“She is, yeah,” Donghyuck agrees. When he dips his spoon on the bowl, tofu and unevenly cut meat floating beside sunken spring onions, the soup ripples then clears out.

 

 

Cerulean and yellow have coalesced into a soft pool of light on the edge of Donghyuck’s bed. Almost every building down the street are establishments open 24/7 and the signboards are still flickering electric past 1AM. Blinking slowly like Mark’s sleepy eyes.

“Mom likes you,” Donghyuck says. He’s a lump of blankets and pillows on his bed, Mark on the mattress on the floor. “Thinks you’re good for me and stuff.”

Mark shifts on the mattress, lying chest down, embarrassed. “She’s probably gonna take that back when she finds out about my hobbies.”

“Probably.” And Mark imagines the smile on his face and almost thinks he imagines the quieter statement Donghyuck adds: “But that doesn’t make it any less right.”

Mark's body’s glued to the mattress. His chest stutters. He croaks out a  _what?_ but Donghyuck’s already shifting in his own bed, silently facing the wall, even his breath quiet. The pool of blue-yellow light’s still dancing on his ankles.

During breakfast the next day, Donghyuck’s mother flashes the same smiling eyes at him. Donghyuck flutters past him, grabbing them both bowls and chopsticks. Mark’s mind momentarily short-circuits. He leaves before the early sunlight swallows the pavements. There are texts from Jeno and Chenle in his inbox and when Jeno arrives late noon, fresh from Busan beaches, he looks at Mark with funny eyes.

“You know how Donghyuck always smells like that lemon-scented shampoo he always uses?” Jeno says, thumbing on the gravel under their fingers. In the ring, a newbie’s ear comes into contact with the same gravel. Mark furrows his eyebrows at Jeno.

“Well, you kinda smell the same right now,” Jeno finishes, dusting his hands. Jaehyun does the same, somewhere in the room, and Lucas cheers at him for winning.

 

 

It’s accidental, the day Mark finally wins. The way it happens is that he’s walking home, following broken traffic lines on a deserted street, when he hears a clatter of metal in the alley. A soft swishing sound follows after, rising through the walls. He unconsciously cracks his still-bandaged knuckles.

“What the— _Donghyuck_?” he utters incredulously when he goes to investigate and sees a boy in the alley. It  _is_ him, hair tucked in a hoodie, holding a bottle of spray paint. He almost drops it when he sees Mark.

“Mark!” he fumbles, looking at the wall then back at him. It’s a stenciled painting of lined up caricatures, already halfway finished. Their eyes are as small as Donghyuck’s surprised pupils.

It is then that Mark realizes. Almost five of Donghyuck’s little games already yet Mark hasn’t won once. Donghyuck had always been too quick for him but now,  _now_ he’d caught him. And it isn’t really planned, this new round, but still. Mark counts it as a win. His mouth catches up with his brain and he says, “I-I finally caught you! After—“

“Can’t really talk right now,” Donghyuck says, still spray painting, finishing up the last colors. Mark’s fumbling gets lost in the dexterity of Donghyuck’s hands. He’d never seen the younger look so serious. It’s not long before he finally finishes with a soft  _yes!_. He checks his watch and smiles, tongue against teeth.

“Right on time,” he says under his breath. They both look at his finished artwork as Donghyuck tucks the half-empty spray paint in his bag. Mark’s still staring at the wall when Donghyuck walks to stand in front of him.

“So…” Donghyuck says.

“So,” Mark repeats unintelligently. There’s a whisper of white paint on Donghyuck’s cheek.

“I hope you run fast,” Donghyuck grins, gums and all, and it all happens so fast. One minute the world’s idle and suddenly it’s spinning as they’re speeding through the alley, crossing the empty street, Donghyuck’s hand clasped tightly on his wrist. When Mark looks back, a paroling police officer had just turned the corner of the alley. 

They run for what seems like hours, ducking through alleys and speeding past streets. People give them strange, nasty looks but they continue sprinting. Eventually they stop at a parking lot that’s empty save for a worn-down mini van with its wheels toeing the parking lines. Mark feels like his lungs had been punctured by a hundred staplers.

Then Donghyuck is laughing. And he’s giggling so hard in between stuttered breaths that Mark can’t help but giggle too. They’re two teenagers collapsing on the sun-dazed gravel of the parking lot, hacking and laughing through parched throats, wrists still linked. The clouds are kind, temporary awnings above them, momentarily blocking their silliness from the scorching rays of the sun.

“Oh man,” Donghyuck rasps, finally letting go of Mark’s wrist to wipe the tears in his eyes. A tiny ache throbs in Mark's chest. Donghyuck giggles, repeats, “Oh  _man_ , that was crazy.”

“We’re lying on a parking lot,” Mark says, and then they’re laughing stupidly again. Only when a family of four walks out of the supermarket and gives them disturbed looks do they get up. The father drags his daughter away from their line of sight.

“So,” Donghyuck says, and the revving of the van drowns his voice but Mark hears it anyway. Donghyuck’s got the sun for a smile. “I’m supposed to buy you food huh?”

 

 

Mark settles for watermelon-shaped ice creams. The cashier scans their items drowsily and she’s too sleepy, the supermarket too run-down and empty, to scold Mark and Donghyuck when they get back in to eat the ice creams in front of the cool air-condition in the dairy section.

For some reason, Donghyuck’s distracted. He’d acted normal the minute they entered but as they passed aisles of cereals, he must’ve realized something that has him frozen like he is now. He’s staring at the cheese behind Mark’s head and half-heartedly laughing at Mark’s jokes.

After one particular bad joke, he starts to opens his mouth but shuts it when an old man trolleys through with a shopping cart. They wait for him to leave. He looks hesitant when the man finally does.

“So,” he starts, kind of awkwardly. The old man’s shopping cart squeaks against the floor, then he disappears. “I kind of had a deal with myself. I’m supposed to do something if you ever catch me.”

Mark’s already halfway finished with his ice cream. He hums, prodding Donghyuck to continue, idly wondering to himself if he’s cruel enough to let Donghyuck buy another one for him.

“I’m, um, supposed to confess,” Donghyuck says, clearing his throat.

The frost chills Mark’s teeth and bones. “Confess what?”

“Confess… what I feel about you?” Donghyuck says meekly, and Mark’s head whips.

And,  _oh._ It hits him there, the sudden wave. He’s already stomached in long ago that two things were bound to happen: one, he’s bound to catch Donghyuck and two, he’s bound to catch feelings for Donghyuck. One of the two had already happened weeks before.

Red’s dusted onto Donghyuck’s cheeks and Mark momentarily flounders at everything. But then Donghyuck utters a shaky “ _say something_ ” and at that, Mark finally blinks back to reality. Then he lets out a relieved laugh. The white paint on Donghyuck’s cheek is flaking off. What’s left of their ice creams drips down their fingers.

“It took us this long, huh,” he smiles nervously, and it takes a few seconds for Donghyuck to decipher. He has whole constellations on his eyes. By then, everything’s already melting away.

 

 

“You do know the way home, don’t you?” Mark turns to Donghyuck. “Donghyuck, you do right?”

His smile drops when he sees Donghyuck looking around guiltily. The street ahead of them zigzags to an unfamiliar road, and none of the street signs point home. They’re in a route they don’t even know the name of. “I thought you knew where we were going!” Mark bursts, realizing.

“I do!” Donghyuck blurts, groans, “but, ugh, I mean, not  _now_. I wasn’t really thinking when we were running earlier.”

“What?” Mark cries out. “But you said—“

“I was  _distracted_ , okay?” Donghyuck says, glancing meaningfully at their hands.  _Oh._ Mark fights off the show of emotions in his face. Now’s not really the time. They’ve got whole city atlases to scour through. “Besides, we haven’t really gone far. We’re pretty close.”

“We better be home before nightfall,” Mark says, frowning. Donghyuck thaws it all away with a winning smile.

 

 

Donghyuck finally breaches two meters of distance between them three days in. After much dancing around, it’s bound to happen really. Like everything about them ever is. Everything’s swathed in pale emerald where they’re in, standing among Chenle’s mother’s photosynthesizing plants. Donghyuck’s softly coaxing his lips open. His tongue soothes the healing split on Mark's lip.

“Good?” Donghyuck mumbles against his mouth after. They hear Chenle and Jisung’s footsteps clumsily climb up the creaking, metal stairs.

“Good,” Mark whispers back, dazed, and they spring apart. Jisung looks elated when they come up, and Donghyuck keeps him in a headlock, ruffling his hair fondly. They grab some of Mark’s pillows and blankets and head back down to Chenle’s house. Donghyuck pokes his hand under the table during dinner.

“You okay, hyung?” Chenle asks, looking at the funny expression on Mark’s face, popping a kimchi in his mouth. When Mark looks down curiously, he sees Donghyuck’s hand hovering hesitantly beside his.

“I’m fine,” he says, looking back up. He slides his fingers between the spaces of Donghyuck’s very own. Donghyuck smiles to himself, pleased, squeezing Mark's hand. Their knuckles are parallel to each other, both red, but for different reasons: Mark's from all the sustained bruises, Donghyuck's from the bottles of spray paint.

Somehow, their hands meet in between.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading ♡
> 
> look out for that chensung side story i'll prob write


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